Harry Potter and the Half Blood Backstreet Boy
by RokofAges75
Summary: After his defeat of Voldemort, Harry Potter thought the danger had finally come to an end. But for the Backstreet Boys, it's only just beginning. One of them is guarding a secret, and if it gets out, it could put the lives of the whole group in jeopardy.
1. The Backstreet Boy Who Lived

**Chapter One**

**THE BACKSTREET BOY WHO LIVED**

The Backstreet Boys, of Orlando, Florida, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because as a chart-topping, internationally famous boyband, they just didn't have time for all that.

Kevin Richardson was the oldest member of the group, which made pop music. He was a tall, handsome man with just a small amount of facial hair, although he did have very thick eyebrows. Howie Dorough, the second oldest, was short and dark and not nearly as handsome, which he compensated for by gyrating bare-chested onstage, winking at the fans. The Backstreet Boys had three younger members called Brian, AJ, and Nick, and in the fans' opinion, there were no finer Boys anywhere.

The Backstreet Boys had everything they wanted, but one of them also had a secret, and his greatest fear was that somebody would discover it.

When the Boys woke up on the bright, sunny Sunday our story starts, there was nothing about the blue sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the world. Howie hummed as he picked out his cheesiest tie for church, and Kevin paced around anxiously as he waited for his cousin Brian to finish packing his bags.

None of them noticed a large Great Horned owl flutter past the window.

At half past eight, Kevin picked up Brian's suitcase, and Howie hugged Brian goodbye. "Good luck, man," said Howie, as Brian and Kevin left the apartment. They got into Kevin's car and pulled out of their building's lot.

As they drove toward the airport, Brian thought of nothing except the major surgery he was going to have in five days. But on the edge of town, open-heart surgery was driven out of his mind by something else. As he and Kevin waited at a red light, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Was there some kind of sci-fi convention going on, he wondered, or was this just some stupid new fashion? Brian didn't care much about fashion – he wore a t-shirt and jeans when he wanted to be casual, a button-down shirt and tie when he needed to dress up, and whatever the stylists put him in when he was doing a photo shoot, performance, or press appearance. He and the fellas had been photographed in some pretty goofy getups over the years; he hoped cloaks weren't next.

When he mentioned this out loud, Kevin said, "Cloaks?" Brian pointed his finger out the window, and Kevin's eyes fell upon a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. "It's probably just some silly stunt," Kevin said with a shrug. These people were obviously seeking attention for some reason… yes, that would be it. The light changed, and a few minutes later, Kevin and Brian arrived in the airport parking lot, their minds back on Brian's surgery.

They always waited in a private lounge at the airport, where they wouldn't be approached by fans or paparazzi. If they hadn't, they might have been able to forget about the operation for a time. They didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people sitting in the concourse did; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed as owl after owl sped past the windows. Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime. Kentucky's finest cousins, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free wait. They each ordered a latte. They pretended to watch CNN and made small talk to avoid talking about the reason Brian was flying home. Kevin kept it together until boarding time, when he was forced to hug his cousin goodbye and walk out of the airport alone. He blinked back tears on the way to his car and let them fall once he was inside it. He knew Brian would be fine; he just hated that he had to stay in Orlando and perform when he should have been with his family.

He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them on his way home. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. This bunch were whispering excitedly, too. It was while he was slowing down at a yellow stoplight, the car window cracked open to let in the warm spring air, that he caught a few words of what they were saying.

"The Dark Lord, that's right, that's what I heard—"

"—yes, the Chosen One, Harry—"

Kevin stopped dead, but only because the light had turned red. The words meant nothing to him. His only concern was for his cousin.

He found it a lot harder to concentrate in rehearsals that afternoon, and when he left the studio at five o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door.

"Sorry," he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Kevin realized that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passersby stare, "Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!"

And the old man hugged Kevin around the middle and walked off.

Kevin stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger – a stranger who was as far from a screaming teenaged girl as one could get. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off for home, hoping he was imagining things.

Several miles away, the warm spring breeze that had wafted through Kevin's window drifted over a long driveway that wound between landscaped flower beds. An immense house reared up, sunlit and inviting. There was no sound apart from the rustle of palm trees and no sign of life apart from a tiny lizard that had scurried into the landscaping to search hopefully for insects among the flowers.

But then, with a very faint _pop_, a slim, hooded figure appeared out of thin air on the edge of the driveway. The lizard froze, wary eyes fixed upon this strange new phenomenon. The figure seemed to take her bearings for a few moments, then set off with light, quick strides, her long cloak rustling over the grass. Her footsteps echoed on the cobbles as she followed a stone path, until she reached the front porch, where a light glimmered through the curtains in a downstairs room.

She knocked on the door and stood waiting, breathing in the smell of flowers that was carried to her on the spring breeze. After a few seconds, she heard movement behind the door, and it opened a crack. A sliver of a woman could be seen looking out at her, a woman with short red hair curled in waves around a plump face and blue eyes.

The figure threw back her hood. She was so pale that she seemed to shine in the sunlight; the long blonde hair streaming down her back gave her the look of a drowned person.

"Narcissa!" said the woman, opening the door a little wider. "What a pleasant surprise!"

But the woman named Narcissa barely smiled. "May I speak to you? It's urgent."

"Well, of course!"

The redhead stood back to allow Narcissa to pass into her house. They stepped directly into a large living room, where the hostess gestured Narcissa to the sofa. She threw off her cloak, cast it aside, and sat down, staring at her white and trembling hands clasped in her lap.

"So, what can I do for you?" the other woman asked, settling herself in the armchair opposite Narcissa.

"We… we are alone, aren't we?" Narcissa asked quietly.

"Yes, of course. Well, the dogs are here, but we're not counting animals, are we?"

"Not unless they're really Animagi, like our disgraced cousin," sniffed Narcissa.

"Ah, yes, dear Sirius. Burnt off the Black family tree, just as I was, I'm guessing?"

Narcissa averted her eyes, looking slightly embarrassed. "You were never included on the tree to begin with. Your branch ended with your grandmother, the Squib."

"Of course it did." The other woman rolled her eyes, allowing herself a wry chuckle. "So why are you here, of all places? I'd have thought you'd be mourning the loss of your precious Dark Lord. I suppose he really _has_ gone?"

"Oh yes, he's gone," said Narcissa. "And so is Bella."

"_What?_"

"She was killed in battle last night at Hogwarts." Narcissa blinked back tears, struggling to maintain her composure.

"I… I'm so sorry to hear that." The other woman shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "And what about the rest of your family?"

"Draco and Lucius are safe. We… fled… in the midst of the fray."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"I just hope," Narcissa continued, speaking over the other woman, "that since we defected, Lucius won't be convicted as a Death Eater again. I just can't bear the thought of him being sent back to Azkaban."

"Surely not!"

"But that's not why I'm here." Narcissa leaned forward, for once appearing eager to turn the topic of conversation away from herself. "I came to warn you. The child. If any of the remaining Death Eaters were to discover his existence, they might come after him, try to convert him to their side. If they only knew what he was, _who_ he was, I fear they would see him as the Dark Lord reincarnated."

"And your concern is for the child?" The red-haired woman arched her eyebrows skeptically.

"My concern is for _all_ our children," Narcissa snapped. "I almost lost my son last night because of this war, and if there's a way to prevent another one-"

"I understand," said the other woman gently, reaching out to pat her knee. "I sure don't want my son involved in any of this either."

Narcissa bristled, either at her touch or her words. Standing suddenly, she said, "Yes, well… I just wanted to warn you, so you'd know to keep him out of harm's way."

"Thank you," the other woman replied genuinely, rising to her feet as well. She leaned forward, as if to embrace Narcissa, but the haughty blonde abruptly turned on her heel and strode across the room. At the door, she stopped and tipped her head toward the other woman.

"Good luck to you both," she murmured. Then, with a swish of her cloak, she was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neatly clipped grass in the backyard, which lay serene and tidy under the cerulean sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. The boy in question rolled over in his hammock without waking up. One hand rested on the Discman beside him, and he napped on, knowing he was special, knowing he was famous, knowing he would spend the next eight weeks relaxing in the sun while his bandmate recuperated from surgery and that, afterwards, he would go back on the road to perform for crowds of his adoring fans. But he couldn't know that this road would lead him down the very dark and dangerous path his mother had tried to hide from him, nor that he was destined to face whatever awaited him at its end.


	2. Home Away from Hogwarts

**Chapter Two**

**HOME AWAY FROM HOGWARTS**

Across the Atlantic, another boy slept, one hand curled loosely around a narrow cylinder of wood. It had been over a year since Lord Voldemort's defeat, yet Harry Potter had not yet lost the habit of sleeping with his wand. Even now, the slightest noise had him sitting bolt upright in bed, on high alert for the possibility of an attack.

It took him a few seconds to take in his surroundings – the ornately carved wooden furniture; the tall windows, letting in slivers of early morning sunlight between their long, velvet curtains; the posters of motorcycles and Muggle girls in bikinis, permanently fixed to the walls – and realize he was safe in his home at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. The faint rustling sound that had roused him from his sleep he now recognized as the scurrying of small feet on the floorboards below. Kreacher, his house elf, was moving about – preparing breakfast, by the smell of it. Harry closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of fried bacon and fresh blueberry muffins for a second, before he scrambled out of bed and down four flights of stairs to the cavernous kitchen in the basement of the old manor.

When Harry had first inherited number twelve, Grimmauld Place, the ancestral home of his godfather, Sirius Black, he'd had no intentions of actually living there one day. With Sirius gone, there was nothing left to brighten the gloomy mansion. But after hiding there for a month the previous year, while on the run with his friends Ron and Hermione, Harry had come to view the house as a safe haven, a sanctuary. He actually missed the place after they were forced to leave it, and once the danger had passed and the dust had settled, it had just made the most sense for him to return to Grimmauld Place and make it his home.

With Kreacher's help, Harry had thoroughly cleaned the house, while his girlfriend, Ginny, provided the feminine eye needed to redecorate it. The set of shrunken house elf heads that had once lined the main staircase had been relocated to Kreacher's new quarters on the third floor, along with the troll leg umbrella stand and the rest of the Black family belongings left behind in the house after Mundungus Fletcher had finished looting it. Only the two bedrooms on the topmost landing, once belonging to brothers Sirius and Regulus Black, were left unchanged. Harry slept in his godfather's old room and kept Regulus's as a shrine to the man whose sacrifice had helped him defeat Voldemort.

Kreacher still worshipped the ground on which "Master Regulus" once walked, but he had come to respect Harry as his rightful new owner. "Good morning, Master," croaked Kreacher in his bullfrog's voice, bowing Harry into the kitchen.

"Just Harry, please, Kreacher," said Harry, who was still uncomfortable with the idea of "owning" a house elf. He knew that Hermione, founder of the organization S.P.E.W., the Society for the Protection of Elfish Welfare, did not approve. But Kreacher wasn't like Dobby, whom Harry had freed from his enslavement as the Malfoy family's house elf. Dobby had hated serving his former masters and delighted in his newfound freedom, but to most house elves, being let go was a disgraceful insult. Harry knew he would only be doing a disservice to Kreacher, who had lived his whole life in this house, if he were to give him clothes and make him leave. Besides, Kreacher was much more pleasant to be around these days, and his cooking was too good to give up.

"Yes, Master Harry," Kreacher replied, placing a plate heaped high with eggs, hash browns, bacon, and a blueberry muffin in front of Harry as he sat down at the long, wooden table.

Harry didn't bother to correct him again. His muffin had already been sliced and spread with melting better. Mouth watering, he picked up one half and took a big bite. "Mmm," he said, through a mouthful of blueberries. "I think you've outdone yourself, Kreacher."

"Master is too kind," Kreacher said humbly, brushing aside the compliment. "What time will Master's friends be arriving?"

Harry smiled; it was a nice change to hear Hermione and Ginny referred to as "friends," rather than "the Mudblood" and "blood traitor brat." "Not 'til seven. I'll probably head straight to King's Cross after work."

"Kreacher will have dinner on the table when Master and his friends return," Kreacher replied, twisting his lips into what could almost pass for a smile in return. The expression looked strange on him, as Harry had grown so accustomed to seeing a scowl on his face.

"Thanks, Kreacher!" Harry bolted down the rest of his breakfast, then went back upstairs and dressed at top speed. "See you later!" he called to Kreacher, as he left for work. On his way to the nearest Underground station, he passed Muggles wearing business suits and the browbeaten expressions Tuesday mornings bring, but Harry couldn't be bothered to feel down on a day like this. The sun was shining, the mid-June heat was rising, and his two favorite women in the world would soon be on their way to see him. He had every reason to smile this morning, as he did so often these days.

What a change Voldemort's death had made in his life! No longer did Harry live in a constant state of paranoia, waiting to be attacked. No longer did he have to put up with the accusations that he was a liar, an attention-seeker, or a tragic hero driven mad by the trauma he'd suffered. His life had quieted down some in the months since his name had finally dropped out of the press, following extensive coverage of the Battle of Hogwarts by the Wizarding media.

To Harry, it was a welcomed relief from the chaos and uncertainty of the year he'd spent tracking down Horcruxes in his quest to defeat Voldemort. He didn't miss being on the run, camping in a different patch of forest every night, scavenging for food and going hungry most of the time, fighting the elements and trying to avoid the Death Eaters and Snatchers. He still had enemies, both in and out of Azkaban, but it wasn't like before. There was no longer a price on his head; he could come and go as he pleased. When he was recognized on the streets, it was by supporters and admirers, rather than Voldemort's followers. He was still uncomfortable being the famous Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, but at least he had finally proven himself by living up to those titles.

Harry descended the stairs that led into the Underground station, where he purchased a ticket and boarded the train that would get him closest to his destination, the Ministry of Magic. As he still hated the sensation of Apparition, distrusted the Floo network, and couldn't very well fly through London on a broomstick, Harry relied on Muggle transportation to get to and from work each day. Most wizards would scoff at the idea of famous Harry Potter taking a Muggle train to work, but Harry found the train ride relaxing. It gave him a chance to simply sit and mull over the day's events. After so much time spent running, acting on instinct to survive, Harry relished having time just to sit and think.

_I'm starting to sound like Hermione,_ he thought to himself, as he reemerged into the sunlight on the street above. He walked a block to the employee entrance of the Ministry's headquarters, which was disguised as a public toilet. After flushing himself down the toilet, he was deposited into one of the gilded fireplaces on the left side of the Atrium, the lobby of the Ministry of Magic. He stepped out of the grate onto the polished, dark wood floor, where his best friend, Ron, stood waiting for him.

"All right, Harry?" Ron greeted him.

Harry grinned at his lanky, red-haired friend. "Hey, Ron."

When they'd received their career advice three years ago, during their fifth year at Hogwarts, Harry never expected to find himself and Ron actually working for the Ministry of Magic. Although he'd held on to his ambition to become an Auror, that was the year that the Minister of Magic himself, Cornelius Fudge, had accused him of being a deluded liar for announcing Voldemort's return. The following year, Fudge's successor, Rufus Scrimgeour, tried to make Harry the Ministry's mascot, though Harry blatantly refused to support a government that convicted innocent people of supporting Voldemort. And the year after that, the Imperiused puppet-minister Pius Thicknesse forced Harry into hiding by deeming him "Undesirable Number One." But the current Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, was a far better leader than his last three predecessors, and it was only on his invitation that Harry and Ron had joined the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to be trained as Aurors.

"Hope the day goes fast, eh?" said Ron, as the two of them stepped onto one of the lifts.

Harry suppressed a smirk, not fooled by Ron's casual tone. He knew Ron couldn't wait to see Hermione, just as he was dying to be with Ginny again. "Let's hope," he agreed.

While he and Ron had gone straight into the Ministry without completing their final year at Hogwarts, Hermione had chosen to go back to school to finish out her seventh year and sit for her N.E.W.T. exams alongside Ginny. It had been a long nine months, being apart from them both while Harry and Ron embarked on their first year of Auror training, but at last, the school term was over, and Hermione and Ginny would be coming home on the Hogwarts Express that very evening.

Harry couldn't wait to hold Ginny again, to run his hands through her long, silky hair, to feel her lips, warm and soft against his. They had lost so much time together. He was determined to make up for all the missed opportunities.

It was hard to concentrate on his combat training exercises that day, with Ginny on his mind. His brain felt fuzzy, his reflexes slow. He was relieved when the work day finally came to an end. He and Ron changed out of their robes and into Muggle clothing before they left together through the fireplaces on the right side of the Atrium, flushing themselves back into Muggle London.

They rode the Underground to King's Cross Station. To Harry's relief, it was far less embarrassing to take Muggle transportation with Ron than it was his father; Mr. Weasley, a pureblood wizard who was fascinated by Muggles, always wanted to stop and point out perfectly ordinary things, which tended to attract the attention of Muggle passersby. Ron was just as clueless about Muggle technology, but didn't care enough to ask a lot of questions. He just let Harry go first and simply followed his lead, as they navigated their way through the Underground system.

At King's Cross, they headed straight for the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten, which served as the gateway to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, where the Hogwarts Express was due to arrive. Leaning casually against the barrier, appearing deep in conversation, they waited until no Muggles were around, then slipped on through what had appeared to be a solid wall. They emerged on the other side of the barrier, beneath a wrought-iron archway that spelled out the words _Platform Nine and Three-Quarters_. A few other people were already milling about under an Arrivals sign that said _Hogwarts Express, seven o'clock_, and the number of friends and family members waiting for their students to return only multiplied the closer it came to that time.

Promptly at seven, a train whistle sounded, and Harry's heart leapt at the sight of the familiar scarlet steam engine chugging down the track. The Hogwarts Express pulled up alongside the platform and slowed to a stop. Inside the train, Harry could see compartment doors flying open, eager students filling the corridors. As he watched the flood of young witches and wizards pour out onto the platform, hauling their heavy trunks, Harry experienced a moment of regret, in which he wished he had gone back to Hogwarts for one final year. He thought of his four-poster bed in Gryffindor Tower, of having tea in Hagrid's hut, of feasts in the Great Hall and DA meetings in the Room of Requirement, of Quidditch matches and House Cups and the Triwizard Tournament…

But then he spotted a familiar figure with long red hair dancing down her back. She turned, saw him, smiled, and suddenly, Harry could think of nothing else but Ginny Weasley. "Harry!" she cried, bounding toward him, her hair streaming behind her like flames. Her face was even more radiant, as, beaming, she threw herself into his arms. He caught her in a tight hug, his hands entangling themselves in her hair. "Harry, I missed you so much," Ginny whispered into his ear, her lips caressing his cheek.

Harry thought of all the nights he'd lain awake with the Marauder's Map spread out on his bed, searching it by wandlight until he found the tiny figure labeled Ginny, asleep in her dormitory at the top of Gryffindor Tower. "I missed you, too. I'm glad you're here."

"Me too." Ginny pulled back, grinning, her brown eyes bright.

"Ahem." They both turned to find Ron watching them, his arm around Hermione and a smirk on his slightly pink face. "If you're done snogging my sister, Harry, I thought I'd remind you that Hermione's here, too."

Judging by the color in his cheeks, Harry suspected Ron had just enjoyed a bit of snogging, too, but he decided not to mention it. Instead, he smiled, released Ginny, and strode over to hug Hermione. "Welcome home, Hermione."

"Oh, it's so good to see you, Harry!" she replied, hugging him back tightly. "It just hasn't been the same at Hogwarts without you two."

"Yeah, this year was actually _peaceful_! And _quiet_!" Ginny added, giving them all a good laugh. "And… well… completely boring."

"We're glad it's over," Hermione agreed, as Harry and Ron grinned at each other.

"Never thought you'd hear Hermione Granger actually say she was glad to be done with school, huh, Harry?" Ron joked.

Harry sniggered. "Yeah, Hermione, usually you're crying over the thought of being off for a whole summer. Oh, the horror!"

"Yes, well, now that I've finished at Hogwarts, I'm quite looking forward to starting my career! I'm thinking of applying to the Ministry myself, possibly the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures; I really think I could make more headway in securing equal rights for house elves there, don't you think?" Hermione said briskly, back to her old ambitious self.

"Not the Spew stuff again," groaned Ron, rolling his eyes at Harry. "And to think, we almost made it a whole year without having to hear about the plight of poor ickle house elves!"

"_How_ many times do I have to tell you, Ron, it's the Society for the Protection of Elfish Welfare, not _Spew_! Honestly!" huffed Hermione, tossing back her head of bushy brown hair. Harry didn't miss the little smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, though, despite her attempts to hide it. He'd known for a long time that this back-and-forth bickering between Ron and Hermione came out of love, rather than hate. Arguing was almost their way of showing affection for one another.

Harry didn't quite understand it, but then, girls and relationships had always been something of an enigma to him. All he knew was that, with Ginny, it was easy. He didn't have to think too much, didn't have to question her every move or second-guess himself. Their relationship felt so comfortable, so natural. He knew even as he reached out to take her trunk that she would swat his hand away, insistent on dragging her own luggage, just as she knew he would still try. Harry had a savior complex, just as Ginny had a fiercely independent streak, but they understood that about each other.

"Hey, speaking of house elves," Harry said suddenly, to break up Ron and Hermione's latest lover's spat, "Kreacher said he'd have dinner ready when we get back to Grimmauld Place."

"Ooh, I'm so hungry, I could eat a hippogriff! Shall we go, then?" asked Ginny pointedly, catching on to what Harry was trying to do.

"Yeah, let's go," Ron agreed, offering to haul Hermione's trunk, a tip he had surely picked up from _Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches_, which he'd given Harry two birthdays ago, after his brothers Fred and George gave him a copy. Ron surely wouldn't have thought to be so chivalrous on his own.

Unlike Ginny, Hermione had no qualms about letting her boyfriend help with her luggage, though as they walked back to the barrier, she remarked, "Oh Harry, I hope you're not letting Kreacher work too hard."

"He wants to, Hermione. He's really come around, that Kreacher."

And sure enough, when they arrived back at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, Kreacher had a steak-and-kidney pie and Harry's favorite treacle tart waiting for them. As he sat down to dinner with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, Harry felt, for the first time since leaving Hogwarts, that he was truly home.


	3. The Fan Mail From No One

**Chapter Three**

**THE FAN MAIL FROM NO ONE**

Over a year had passed since Brian's surgery, but the Backstreet Boys' rigorous tour schedule had hardly changed at all. Night after night, they put on a two-hour show, dancing and sweating so much they actually lost weight on stage. They spent their days traveling from place to place, staying in a different hotel each night or simply sleeping on the tour bus. Life was almost exactly the same as it had been on the day when Kevin and Brian had seen the strange people in cloaks. Only the photographs on their official website really showed how much time had passed. A year ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large yellow penis wearing different-colored outfits – but Nick Carter had retooled his hairstyle, and now the photographs showed a large blonde boy performing on stage, on a rollercoaster at an amusement park, playing video games with AJ, making funny faces with Brian. People tended to forget that there were two other boys in the group, too.

Yet Kevin and Howie were still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. Nick was awake, and he was up to no good.

"C'mon, Nick, don't do that," AJ moaned, as Nick removed the bowl of warm water from the microwave and carried it carefully to the back of the tour bus, where Kevin and Howie were sleeping across the aisle from one another in the bottom bunks.

"But I swear, it works!" Nick hissed, his blue eyes alight with mischief. "I've done it to my sisters' friends at their sleepovers. You put their hand in warm water while they're asleep, and they pee their bed!"

"Yeah, but if you make Howie and Kevin pee their beds in _here_, then the whole goddamn tour bus is gonna smell like their piss!"

Nick's expression changed, his brow furrowing. That thought hadn't occurred to him. Maybe AJ was right; maybe it was a bad idea. "Good point. Damn," Nick sighed. Disappointed, he turned and stomped off to dump the water. The noise was enough to wake both Howie and Kevin, who scolded him for being so annoying.

When a defeated Nick finally slumped down on one of the couches at the front of the bus, AJ sat down next to him, scooting right up close to Nick so he could whisper in his ear, "I'm warning you now, Carter… You ever try that shit on me, and you'll be sleeping in the bus bathroom from now until the end of tour."

"I'm not gonna do anything to you," said Nick. "Honestly…"

But AJ didn't believe him. No one ever did. Nick's reputation as the biggest practical joker in the band was well-earned. The problem was, he never seemed to be able to pull one over on AJ, to the point where he'd about given up hope of ever successfully pranking him.

One night, Nick had shaved off AJ's artfully-sculpted, painstakingly-trimmed goatee while he was asleep. The next morning, however, he had gotten up to find AJ's facial hair exactly as it had been before he'd shaved it off. He couldn't explain how it had grown back so quickly.

Another time, he'd found AJ on the roof of the tour bus. Some fans had been chasing them as usual when, much to Nick's surprise as everyone else's, there was AJ sitting on top of the bus. Their bodyguards were furious, lecturing AJ about climbing tall vehicles. But AJ insisted all he'd tried to do was jump _into_ the bus and that the wind must have caught him in mid-jump. It sounded unbelievable to Nick, but he couldn't explain how AJ had gotten on top of the bus so quickly either.

Then again, AJ had always been sort of mysterious, and Nick supposed that was part of his appeal. He definitely played up his eccentric side with his stage persona, donning weird outfits and outlandish hairdos. His hair was always dyed some crazy color these days, and he was never without his sunglasses – he must have owned hundreds of pairs. Usually, he was the life of the party, totally at ease being the center of attention, but sometimes, he seemed to retreat into himself and simply disappear. They all relished their solitude, especially now when it was so rare, but for someone who acted so outgoing in front of the public eye, AJ was really a pretty private person. There was a great degree of depth to him, a dark side Nick didn't fully understand, but if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that AJ had his share of secrets.

With Nick, nothing was a secret. He said whatever was on his mind, often without thinking first, and made his feelings known. And on that particular day, Nick was feeling bored. Now that his plans to prank Howie and Kevin had been foiled, he had to find something else to do. He challenged Brian to a video game, but when Brian beat him in the first round, Nick quickly lost interest. He put in a movie next, but that didn't hold his attention either; he'd already watched every video he'd packed and was sick of them all. He tried writing a song, but just ended up doodling in his notebook.

The Backstreet Boys had only been touring Europe for two weeks, but to Nick, it felt a lot longer. He loved performing, but hated traveling. He hated packing, hated flying, hated being trapped on the tour bus for hours at a time. Most of all, he hated being away from home. It was weird not having any of his family on tour with him, but at nineteen, Nick no longer needed a chaperone, and his mother, who used to travel with him, was busy managing his brother's career now, while his father stayed at home with his younger sisters. Aaron had opened for the Boys on their last tour, but he was doing his own thing now, recording his next album, preparing for a tour of his own. Nick found that he missed his little brother, now more than ever. There was always something to do when Aaron was around.

Meanwhile, the other guys seemed content to relax and watch the English countryside fly by outside their windows, as the tour bus took them from Birmingham to London, where they'd be performing the next two nights. They hadn't always been as popular in the United Kingdom as in other European countries, but their newly-released album, _Millennium_, had been a soaring success all around the world, pushing them to new heights of fame. It seemed everyone now knew Nick's name; he couldn't go anywhere without being recognized. These days, wherever the Backstreet Boys went, a swarm of fans followed. Chaos ensued, and crazy things happened. And today was no exception.

Only that day, the strangest thing of all happened even before the Boys left their bus – while it was still moving, in fact. Nick was sitting by the window, his notebook in his lap, when he heard a tap-tap-tapping sound on the glass beside him. He glanced up and got the shock of his life when he saw an owl fluttering outside the window, fighting to keep up with the bus as it sped down the motorway. "Whoa!" he exclaimed, pointing excitedly. "Look, it's an owl!"

Kevin, Howie, and Brian all jumped up to look; AJ alone seemed unimpressed, as he sidled up slowly behind them. "It's carrying something," he observed, and for the first time, Nick noticed the envelope clutched in the owl's talons. A gust of wind blew into the bus as Nick carefully cracked open the window, afraid of scaring the creature away. But it continued to hover by the window, undeterred.

Nick had never seen an owl in the wild before, but he knew about animals and thought it incredibly strange that any bird would stay so close to a speeding bus full of people, especially a bird that he thought only came out at night. He wondered if the owl was sick or something. _Can owls get rabies?_ he wondered. But before he could ask the question out loud, AJ stunned him into silence by shoving Nick aside, sticking his hand through the gap in the window, and snatching the envelope right out from under the owl's claws.

"What is it?" Nick demanded, once he'd recovered from his shock, but AJ had the envelope clutched to his chest and seemed unwilling to show anyone.

"It's mine," he said shortly.

"Huh? How do you know?"

"It's addressed to me, see?" AJ shoved the envelope under Nick's nose, just long enough for him to see the address, so plain there could be no mistake:

_Mr. A.J. McLean_

_The Top Bunk on the Left_

_Backstreet Boys Tour Bus_

_M1 Motorway_

_Buckinghamshire_

The envelope was made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp, no postmark, and no return address.

"Who's it from?" Nick wanted to know, but AJ whipped the letter out of sight before he could make a grab for it.

"Probably just a fan," AJ said over his shoulder, as he walked off with the letter.

"What, a fan with a trained owl?" Nick called after him. AJ just ignored him, disappearing into his bunk and drawing the privacy curtain. Nick turned to the other three in disbelief. "What the hell?"

Brian, Kevin, and Howie looked just as bewildered. In hushed voices, they talked about what they'd just witnessed, not only the strangeness of an owl delivering mail to their bus in the middle of the day, but AJ's even stranger reaction to it. When AJ reemerged from his bunk ten minutes later, they all stared at him, waiting for an explanation. But AJ offered none. In fact, he acted like nothing unusual had happened at all.

"So what did the letter say?" Nick finally asked, when no one else did.

"It said how awesome I am," AJ replied, without missing a beat. "Told you it was fan mail."

"It was not! You're lying!" Nick accused.

AJ just shrugged.

"Okay, let us see it then!" challenged Nick, folding his arms across his chest.

"Yeah, Bone, let's see it," echoed Kevin, and the others nodded.

AJ shrugged again. "Fine. It's in my bunk."

Nick bolted back to the bunk, and sure enough, there was a piece of parchment, unfolded on the bed. He snatched it up and stared at it, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. It took only a second to read the one-line letter.

_Dear AJ,_

_You are awesome._

_Love,_

_A fan_

"AJ, you asshole! You wrote that yourself! Where's the real letter?" demanded Nick.

"That is the real letter," AJ insisted, smiling. And indeed, it was made of the same parchment as the envelope, written in the same hand. But Nick wasn't buying it. There was something AJ wasn't telling them, but he had no idea how to get it out of him.

Howie had an idea: get AJ drunk. So that night in London, they hit the pubs. It was times like this that Nick loved being overseas, where he was old enough to go out with the guys and drink legally. He kept buying AJ shots, but no amount of alcohol could get AJ to talk.

Drunk and defeated, they headed back to their hotel in the wee hours of the morning. Brian and Nick shared a room with two full-size beds and a balcony overlooking the city. Brian dropped right off to sleep, but Nick stayed awake, sitting on the balcony, staring down at the lights of passing cars and wondering…


End file.
